Follow Me Down
by asilversnitch
Summary: [SEQUEL TO RUN] It feels like it's starting all over again. Hermione's determined to run, but Scabior won't let her go that easily. So, who will win this race? Scabmione. Set in DH Part 1.


**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, any of the following characters etc. They are all owned by the lovely J.K.R **

So, hey? Yeah, I'm back. It's been a while...

I did mention doing a second part to Run, which was originally a one-shot. So when I found this lurking in my computer and I thought, hey, why not!? So yeah, I finished it and decided to post it online.

I'm sorry I'm such a bad writer. My lack of updates are ridiculous. However, my other story, Searching Skies... Well I lost all inspiration for that a long time ago. Now, I think I'd be much better of starting a new project or something? I don't know, it's all very uncertain at the moment.

Anyway, enough from me. I hope you enjoy this sequel? Yeah, we'll call it a sequel. Thanks guys :)

* * *

Hermione hit the ground with an all mighty thud. Her insides felt like they'd been jerked forwards, colliding with her rib cage and breaking almost every bone. The floor beneath her was hard, and unyielding.

Leaves covered the ground, yet did little to cushion her descent to the forest floor. The leaves tickled her tummy, scratching her skin and breaking underneath her weight. The feel of the crisp, fine leaves beneath her was unusual, yet oddly soothing. She hadn't been outside in so long, but that wasn't the thing she was focusing on now. Her stomach had taken the brunt of the fall, and as a result she now found it difficult to breathe.

But that couldn't stop her. Breathing was the least of her problems, and the pain she felt was subsided as she began back to her feet. Her hands pressed against the floor, crushing more of the dry leaves, sinking into the dirt.

Letting out a groan, Hermione returned onto her feet quickly. A glance behind her was what brought her back into the moment. She took off running once more.

It was the second time she had found herself hurrying through the forest. The blur of forestry sent her into some sort of Déjà Vu, wondering if this was the same part of the woods that she'd sprinted through before.

It was becoming a regular occurrence, running from her enemy. Every fibre of her being told Hermione it was cowardly to run from a fight, but it was stupid and foolish to face her opponent alone, with no means of defence.

He had her wand. It wasn't something she was intending on letting him keep. A wizard's wand was their most prized possession, it was almost a part of them; which is exactly why she had to get it back, if not now then later. At the moment though, the only way to ensure her safety was to get away.

Luck was on her side, despite everything she claimed against her. She had been given the opportunity to escape, and now it was her turn to take control. If she could just keep going, far enough to apparate, then she'd be safe. They were too close, though. Snapping twigs and crunching leaves informed her of her pursuers. Hermione couldn't put her finger on how many of them were chasing her. When it'd happened, everything had gotten so rushed. It was difficult to notice how many snatchers had been in camp at the time.

Scabior, though, was definitely on her tail. His footfalls were so defined. It worried her just how aware she was of his presence. His smell lingered in the air around her, no matter how far she ran it followed her too. His breathing was all she could focus on, it blended in so seamlessly with hers.

This was why she had to leave. Her priorities had become somewhat deterred. Hermione had realised, however ridiculous, the snatcher was getting under her skin.

It was no longer a matter of just getting back to the Wizarding World; it was getting back to the side of the good.

She felt tainted in his company, like she'd committed the most heinous crime of even allowing him to be in her presence. Scabior had tricked her into feeling comfort, even happiness in his company. It was a lie; it had to be, for everyone's sake.

Weeks had gone by in that room, prisoner to the snatcher's whims and commands. Hermione sat in the room day after day, unsure of what to expect. The night when he'd comforted her had become etched into Hermione's mind.

She remembered waking up the day after, his arms circling her. The slow fall of his chest told her he was still asleep, and whether she wanted to or not she just couldn't seem to budge. His chest was pressed against her back, and soon she found herself following the steady beat of his heart. Their bodies were in sync.

Hours passed while she lay there in his embrace. She was torn between the feeling of comfort and betrayal. She was in the enemy's arms, and she was happy about it. This man had caused the trio nothing but trouble, yet here she was cuddling up to him.

What would Ron and Harry say if they saw this? Would they understand?

Of course not. They were fighting for their lives at this very moment. Harry and Ron were working to save the wizarding world while she was sleeping in the same room, the same bed as a man who they were against. He was the reason this war was here, men like him.

Scabior was just another blinded follower who couldn't look past his own arrogance to see other people. Scabior was ruthless, a savage without remorse. It's what makes him such a good snatcher, that he never considers how his captors may feel.

Yet Hermione's mind began to defend the snatcher. Had he not helped her last night? Had he not comforted her, and cared for her? He must have some sense of morals if he can act like that to her. She was, after all, a mudblood. She was the very thing he hated, and he still wanted to make her feel better.

Perhaps Scabior does have a better side. It was a far-fetched theory, but one she clutched too desperately.

If she could make him feel, and see the things he is doing. Hermione was insistent that she could make Scabior see the light. It was her only hope.

How could she do this though? She didn't know how he would act when he wakes. Maybe he'd just return to his usual self.

The only possible way to bring out the better in Scabior is to appeal to his better nature. Hermione had to show him good if she wanted him to realise he could be this way too.

It was ironic, trying to beat the side of evil by being kind to its followers. But this was the best plan Hermione had had for a while, and she was anxious to put it into play.

It wasn't long before she felt the movement of his body behind hers. His chest pressed against her back further, and she could feel him loosening his muscles from behind. After days of sleeping on the chair, he was sure to feel the effect of returning to his bed.

A groan escaped his mouth as he stretched. Hermione bit her lip, unsure of why that sound made her feel so embarrassed and flustered.

_The plan,_ she reminded herself. She couldn't keep acting like a childish, schoolgirl if she wanted to escape. Or perhaps, acting like a lovesick teenager would be an even quicker route to success?

She twisted around until she faced the snatcher. Upon seeing her face, he let out a roguish grin. Hermione smiled in response, though beneath the covers her hands gripped tightly to the fabric.

"Good morning." She said, her voice trembling only slightly. Last night's crying bout had left her voice in a somewhat hoarse condition.

He stared at her for a while, like she was some sort of anomaly. Hermione felt it.

The intense look in his eye was unnerving. She began to wonder what he was thinking as he looked at her. Were her eyes still red? Her hair messed up?

"Are you okay?" She asked, against the protest of her own voice. She must've sounded rather unusual, so quiet and squeaky.

There was a sudden realisation in his eyes. It was like he'd only just understood that she'd spoken. He let out a chuckle and slumped down onto his back.

"I'm fine, love." He assured her, "Though shouldn't I be the one to ask you?"

"I suppose."

The room moved into an awkward silence, with Hermione quickly running out of things to say. Ironically, for a girl who's known as the smartest witch of her age, she didn't have much to say in such situations.

Biting her lip, she looked to the snatcher, silently pleading that he knew what to do. Except he looked just as stumped as her. His brows furrowing, concentrated as his eyes locked on her. Hermione wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, but he seemed pretty intent on finding it. What must she look like to him? A scared, vulnerable girl? She hadn't even begun to think of his opinion on her blood status.

Did she disgust him? Evidently not if he was so eager to comfort her only the night before. He knew she was a muggleborn, more so that she was one third of the golden trio. Yet still, none of these factors had seemed to apply last night.

After an eternity of quiet, Scabior pushed up from the bed. Hermione jumped at his sudden movement, not expecting him to act so quickly.

He was busying himself, trying his best to avoid her. Eyes roaming the room, he made sure that they not fall on her.

It was so weird to watch, a man who is thought as one of the most dangerous people to run into, stumbling around trying to avoid eye contact with a teenage girl. Hermione giggled, thinking about this big, tough man scared of her.

The giggle didn't go unnoticed by the snatcher though. He froze in place, and Hermione began to deeply regret underestimating this man. He was not scared of her, she told herself. Why couldn't she have just gone along with his plan of ignoring her?

Scabior turned around, eyes narrowed on her. It sent off shivers in her body, goosebumps rose from her skin only to be hidden by her clothes. It was fortunate, Hermione thought, she couldn't allow him to see how much he affected her.

"Something funny, sweetheart?" He said lightly, his body leaning against the wooden cabinet. He looked so calm and collected as he leaned on his arm, yet she could see his unpredictability, she could see that he was anything but calm.

"No, I just-"

"Oh, you can tell me." He cut her off, walking or rather stalking towards her. She gulped as his figure loomed closer to her, "I'm just a harmless snatcher, right?"

He was testing her, she knew that much. Whatever sympathy he had felt for her before was long gone. She'd just laughed at him, and laughing at a snatcher was a big mistake to make. If she kept this up, he'd realise that he's gotten too close to his prisoner, and then he might just pass her off to the Ministry. No matter how much she feared Scabior, Hermione really didn't want to end up there.

"It was nothing, I swear." She reasoned with him, sitting up further in the bed. Something about the way he towered over her put her on edge.

"Thought so." Turning around, he got back to business. Hermione heard the nagging in the back of her head, telling her she had to do something.

"Thank you." The words seemed to blurt out.

"For what?" Scabior asked, arms crossed as he turned back to face her.

"I don't know, really." She let out a nervous laugh, "You helped me last night, you still haven't sent me to the Ministry, and you haven't been the worst captor I've known."

The snatcher shrugged, feigning nonchalance, "Well, I'd say it's in our best interest to keep you here with us. After all, you are still wanted, love." A look of confusion fell onto her heart shaped face, "The longer we leave it, the higher the price will be. "

Oh, so that was why. She should have realised it before. They were holding out until the Ministry became desperate, until they become irrational and raise their price. She may only be one third of the trio, but they still recognised that she was capable, and that she was clever. As blinded as these people were, they weren't ignorant enough to ignore a threat at a time like this.

If only they knew where she really was. What would they think if they knew that Hermione Granger, know-it-all extraordinaire, was prisoner to a snatcher? Another question that popped into her mind was what they'd do to Scabior if it was admitted that he had been harbouring her for his own selfish reasons. After all, he was meant to be working for the Dark Lord.

But that shouldn't bother her. Scabior's safety was not of her concern, even if he had shown some in her time of need. It was a blip, she had to remind herself. The only reason she should be even a little forgiving to this man was because it was her means of escape; a part of her plan.

"Right." She murmured against the silence. Her eyes wandered around the room, not quite stopping. She was looking for a distraction, something to hide the rising feeling in her stomach. She wasn't bothered by his claim. No, it didn't bother her even slightly. He was a snatcher; it was the least she expected. She did not care!

Scabior observed the girl who tried to hide away. Despite her determination to seem strong, he could see that his words had caused some sort of reaction. However small it may be, she was bothered by his lack of care. Perhaps, she even wanted him to want her, but that was ridiculous. The thought alone could make either of them hysterical. She did not want him, nor did she need him. Hermione Jean Granger was a perfectly capable, young witch who would not turn to such a hollow, sinister shell of a man like Scabior. All his actions had been for his own sake; Scabior didn't do anything without an alterior motive that almost undoubtedly ended in rewards for his own reaping. Hermione, in no way, would ever think to consort with a man like him. Last night was a mistake, something completely out of her own control. She was hysterical, and he used that to his own advantage. If anything, it should only serve as a reason to loathe the snatcher more.

Both had doubt on their mind, wondering why last night had happened. It most definitely had not been expected, and was certainly not meant to happen. If anyone else were to find out, Hermione could only imagine the repercussions. She wondered who would be considered the guiltier party. Considering Voldemort's opinions on her kind of people, she made the assumption that Scabior would be the one to pay the harder price for his actions.

If the Order were to find out of the events of that night, she wouldn't be sure as to the response. It had been wrong, that much she knew, but her emotions had blurred her mind. She wasn't even completely aware of what she had been doing until she'd thought it through. It wasn't like she was professing her love for the man, hell, she didn't even like him! He'd offered her comfort, and in her desperate state, she had taken it with open arms. It wasn't a mistake she was willing to make again.

Yet her plan, the one to befriend the snatcher. What would the Order think of that? What did she think of that? In all honesty, she wasn't sure if she wanted to go through with it. He didn't even like her a little, so what was the point of trying?

Scabior could see the whir of thoughts going through the witches mind. Her eyes were glazed as she scanned through the masses of thoughts that seemed to drown her with their weight. What was she thinking about, he wondered. Did he dare ask? If he did, it would only result in her misguided belief that he cared. He didn't care. That was anything but his reasoning for wanting to know. The strengths of a snatcher were to know their enemy, or in this case their prisoner. He needed to warm upto the girl, if only to make it easier for her to comply. She wasn't stupid, so it would be anything but easy. Yet he was willing to take the chance.

Scabior approached the girl cautiously, seeing her still in a daze of misplaced speculations and far-off thoughts. She looked so fragile sitting on the bed, her legs bent up to her chest and circled by her arms. She huddled into her own embrace, making herself smaller until she seemed almost invisible. Like the small, forest animals he so often passed in his missions, she hid away and tried to remain anonymous to the world. However strong or smart she may be, this wasn't her world anymore. It wasn't safe and neither was she. Hiding was the only way to protect herself.

Reaching her, the snatcher settled down, crouching ahead of her. Her gaze didn't fault, but instead she was now face to face with Scabior. She made no move to run, instead kept quiet and locked eyes with the snatcher. Words weren't exchanged, but they didn't need to be, not now. If either of them spoke, the situation would be real.

His arms rose, stretching out. He caught a piece of hair dangling on her face, tucking it neatly behind her ear. His hand grazed as it passed her cheek, setting off sparks on her skin. It wasn't the reaction she was meant to have, but she decided to ignore it. She chose to ignore all the protests that told her she shouldn't allow this. She fought against all the reasoning of things that had been thought only moments before. She ignored every bit of resistance in her mind, forgetting about what she should be doing and what she shouldn't be allowing. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

His hand didn't fall, instead began to caress at the soft, tender skin of her cheek. His fingertips were cooling against her flushed cheeks, and she nestled into the rough, calloused feel of his fingers against her flesh. It was a gentle motion and seemed much too forgiving to be the hands of a murderer. Confusion hit her hard, and she began to wonder what kind of man Scabior truly was. Had he killed? Did he even want to live the life planned out for him?

Nothing other than the sound of her own laboured breathe broke between them. Her conscience battled with her desire, each giving as good as they got. Yet the witch didn't move, didn't acknowledge the raging war that was going on beneath.

Fantasy seemed much too real for a moment like this. Neither even considered the truth outside the tent, the expectations of what they should be and who they were against. It was like they were playing with gravity, and setting themselves up to fall again.

Eyes cast down, Hermione's breathe hitched as his hands drifted down to her arms, stroking the thinly veiled skin with the patience and comfort of a lover. Her fists clenched, nails prodding harshly into the palms of her hands. Reaching her forearm, he began to draw circles onto her body. She closed her eyes, wishing the feeling of his hold to last forever. Nothing had felt this good, this secure.

"I can't-" Hermione's voice rang out about the nothingness, piercing through the air like a spear gliding through to air, grace and precision guiding it to its target. She stuttered almost instantly, shocked that she'd even spoke. The sound broke the snatcher from his actions, a look of realisation breaking onto his features and forcing him upwards.

He stood up, unsure of the reason for his change in character once more. The pull to his witch was too impulsive. In her presence, he couldn't regain any restraint. His emotions toyed with him, forcing him to explore his infatuation of the witch with the caramel coloured eyes; the eyes that stared at him then, wide and questioning. More impulses racked his body, ordering him to reach out to her, to make her his. They became more of an enemy to him than the witch in front of him. He couldn't keep giving into his instincts.

Abruptly, he turned and swiftly made his way out of the tent. He didn't once look back, instead keeping his eyes rooted ahead; knowing that one glance back would tempt him back. Unwavering, he left her alone with herself, to think about the reason why her resolve had once again fled at the mere touch of the snatcher.

Returning back to the forest, she remembered with malice that memory that was undoubtedly the beginning of her undoing. It was only the start.

In that tent, days had passed by much like that last day. The snatcher and the witch tip-toed around the urge to act. So careful not to slip up, neither realised just how long had passed by. For Hermione, it was no longer about thinking of a way to escape so much as thinking of how to avoid the ever increasing lure of the snatcher with the red streak in his hair. Scabior invaded her thoughts, breaking her down slowly until she could no longer even consider anything other than him.

It was days later before the two interacted again. The snatchers were moving ground, and Scabior was intent on her joining them to their new base of operation. Hermione, sensing the severity of his tone, and the rigid set of his body, agreed soundlessly.

Awkwardly, she stood from the bed, waiting anxiously for some sort of command.

"We're goin' to need to pack up camp." He informed her shortly, his hands coming out from his pockets. He gestured her forward, which she did instantly, without thought or consideration. It was almost worrying how quickly she was to respond to his orders. Hermione walked towards him, head bowed down, refusing to meet his eyes. To her relief, he didn't question this action. Instead, he almost seemed eager to do the same, "Wait outside. Don't try somethin' stupid."

Hermione opened her mouth, but quickly thought against it. It'd be stupid to question Scabior's reasoning. If he wanted to go outside, amongst the other snatchers, then he must've made sure she'd be safe. That or maybe he just didn't care about what they would do to her. After all, they probably thought her as much their prize as Scabior's. Except she couldn't help but wonder if Scabior would think the same.

She left the tent hurriedly, only to be overwhelmed in the presence of the open land. Taking a long, savoury breath, Hermione almost smiled at the feeling of the wind against her skin, or the sun against her face. Rays of light dashed amongst her body, cut by the branches of surrounding trees. The sound of the forest echoed around her, from the small creatures lurking in the distance to the sound of the whirring weather. Her hair danced wildly against the wind, blocking her vision and forcing her hands to move and tame the curls.

Immersed in the forest, Hermione soon remembered the boys. It was a quick thought, one that was pushed from her mind even faster.

_No, you cannot think of that. You cannot be weak now, not when in the arms of the enemy. _

However, her mind soon ran off with itself, thinking about ridiculous things such as home. Where was home, anyway? Her first thought was her parents, another more fleeting thought was Hogwarts, but that was quickly dashed. Hogwarts was no longer home. Home was a place where you could feel safe, and Hogwarts hadn't been safe for a long time now.

These thoughts were cut off by the laughter of the snatchers. Twisting around, she spied them leaving the tents, each as dirty and dishevelled as the other. Some were big, walking threateningly with their broad shoulders and hard set face. Other were much more lanky, moving with long, swinging arms and a sinister stare that told you they were as much to be feared as the large men.

Hermione felt the sudden need to cower away. There were alot more snatchers than she had predicted, and sooner or later they were going to notice her presence. She could only imagine how well that'd go down. Ironically, she wished Scabior would emerge from the tent soon.

Her foot moved back, and she slowly began to stumble backwards. Wincing at each step she took, Hermione kept her eyes trained on the men. She thought of retreating back to the tent, willing to take the wrath of Scabior over any of those animals outside. Another part of her urged her to run, but what good had that done last time. Plus, she was sure that her disappearance would be quickly noted. If she were to run, she'd need as much distance as possible.

The sound of a calling bird rang out behind her, the almost lyrical sound entrancing her. Unfortunately, it caught the attention of the men too. The first snatcher to notice her was Fenrir Greyback; the one she feared most.

"'Ello girlie. Come to join the big men?" He taunted her, flashing his sharp, pointed teeth. Hermione froze, watching as the other men focused in on her. All of them were smirking down at her, looking at her like she was the answer to their prayers. She could see the hunger in their eyes, and it terrified her. She wanted to scream for Scabior, but she couldn't even be sure that he'd help; for all she knew he would watch or join in with the games.

"Don't you speak mudblood?" Another snatcher called out, stalking towards her.

"Maybe she needs a little encouragement!" A snatcher joked.

"Oi, Scabior told us not to touch the girl." One of the snatchers reminded them. A mocking sigh escaped the werewolf's lips, and he shoved the snatcher back. He approached Hermione menacingly, looming over her much like the trees. Fenrir circled her, grinning when she flinched at his proximity. The rest of the snatchers watched on in fascination as Fenrir continued to surround the girl. Of the snatchers, Greyback had always been considered second in command. Scabior had always been the leader of the group, but Greyback was always behind him, waiting for the opportune moment to take control. Scabior was the one to plan, the one to speak; Greyback liked to act.

A hand found its way to the back of Hermione's head, yanking her hair back. Hermione fought against the force of the werewolf, thrashing about in his hold. Her neck was completely exposed to him, and she knew that was the biggest danger right now. Greyback's other hand restrained her arm, holding tightly enough to stop the blood circulation in her arm. Fenrir flaunted her to the crowd of snatchers, each one of them laughing and jeering along with the werewolf.

Hermione's eyes watered at the ripping sensation on her hair. Her foot slammed back, but collided with what could only be described as a brick wall. The werewolf shrugged of the kick as if it were an itch.

Suddenly, she was pushed forward. The instant relief of being loosened from the werewolf's grasp was quickly replaced with the panic of being thrust into the rest of the snatchers.

Two snatchers came forward and held her arms in place, rooting her to the spot. Greyback strolled forward, nodding to the men on either side. Glancing at them, she saw that they too feared their werewolf. However much they may want to play with the mudblood, they knew that Greyback was the one who would. Without Scabior, Greyback was the one to call the shots. And what Fenrir Greyback wanted, he'd get, if you valued your life that is.

"Filthy mudblood." The werewolf sneered, his eyes narrowing at the witch before him, "I wonder if your blood really is as filthy as they say."

Hermione's eyes widened at the implications, and glanced frantically around for someone to help. It was a lost cause, but something she clung to. None of them made any move to stop, or to even help the witch, but what the hell did she expect? They all thought her as filthy as the werewolf stated. Who would help a mudblood?

The werewolf moved closer, eyes lowering to her neck. He could see every vein, could feel them pulsing beneath her porcelain skin. He followed the blood flow with a morbid fascination whilst Hermione watched with increasing dread. This was really going to happen.

He crouched down, his head centimetres from her neck. She could hear the grinding of his teeth. The grip of the two men tightened, as though they too anticipated the bite. Hermione turned away, too terrified to witness it. She waited for the pain, her lips already parting into a silent scream. Hermione thought he was going slow just to tease her, but she didn't think him clever nor controlled enough to restrain himself.

His breath lingered on her neck, and she shivered in disgust. His breath was much too warm, and felt tainted as it rolled over her skin. He drew back, and she winced in waiting for the pain.

Except it never came. Eyes closed, she waited, but rather than met with an excruciating pain, she was met with the voice of her savoir, and she couldn't even hide the comfort that overcome her in that moment.

"What's going on here?" Scabior's voice erupted from the silent anticipation. Greyback let out a low growl, turning to face his leader.

The pair glared at each other, knowing very well the precarious state of the situation, "I was doin' what we should've done ages ago, boss." He spat the last word at Scabior, his eyes glinting with the warning of danger.

"Oh really?" Scabior replied, advancing on the werewolf. They stood facing each other, eyes fixed on each other. Scabior narrowed his eyes at Fenrir, "I make the rules around here, and you follow them. And I told you, nobody touches the girl."

"She's a mudblood, Scabior." The werewolf stated, judgement etched into his words, "We should take her to the ministry or just finish her off now!"

"I'm the one who makes the decisions around here. If you don't like it, leave."

"You keep her locked away. Soon people will think you're protecting her."

"Say one more thing and I'll rip your throat out, mutt."

"You're going soft, Scabior. All the group's been thinking it." At that, Scabior grasped his wand and armed it straight at his neck before Greyback could even blink.

Scabior raised his eyebrows, pressing the wand further into the werewolf's neck, "I will do it you know. I'll kill you. I've been dying to since you were first recruited."

"Then kill me." Greyback jeered, testing the snatcher. Scabior didn't, instead uttered a spell that Hermione recognised instantly, especially when she saw Greyback collapse to the floor, screaming and clutching his arms around his body. His screams reverberated, filling the forest with the dreadful sound. Hermione had to look away. The two men on either side loosened their hold on her, before falling back to the other snatchers in fear that they would be next on Scabior's hit list.

Scabior eventually released the werewolf of the curse, turning to the other snatchers. He opened his arms, as if stating his superiority, "Anyone else got a problem with how I treat the girl?"

No one spoke out, all silently looking back to the werewolf lying on the ground. His groaning still filled the air, only serving as another reason not to get on the wrong side of Scabior.

Scabior strode over to Hermione, grasping her upper arm and pulling her away from the other snatchers. She obliged gladly, eager to get away from the men. His grip was tight, but more was her determination to get away from the other snatchers.

"Well, what you lot waiting for?" Scabior snapped, eyes narrowed at all the idle figures ahead of him. Greyback was slowly drawing himself up from the ground, curses and moans whispered beneath his breath, "Get to work."

The snatchers hurried to gather up the gear, leaving Hermione and Scabior alone. Greyback lingered behind, his eyes narrowed at Scabior. The two stood for a while staring at each other without emotion. Each of them determined to bring the other down. Eventually though, the sound of the other snatchers calling out to Fenrir broke the contest. Greyback's gaze flittered over to Hermione, and he grinned toothily before racing back to the other snatchers. Hermione could feel a shiver run up her spine at his look. What she wouldn't give to get away from that creature.

"Are you okay, love?" Scabior asked her, his eyes searching her body for any sign of harm. If Hermione didn't know any better, she'd say that he sounded worried, almost concerned for her.

Hermione followed his gaze, as if she wanted to make sure that she hadn't been hurt, "No, I'm fine. He just-"

"Did he bite you?"

"No, but he got very close."

Scabior tipped her chin up, indicating for her to stay that way. She complied, and was patient as he searched her neck for any sign of contact, "Almost too close. Stupid bastard, I told him to stay away."

"Why?" Scabior blinked, hesitating for a second as though he needed to make sure he'd heard right.

"What do you mean why?"

"Why did you tell Greyback to stay away? Why am I not trusted to be with all the other snatchers?" Hermione prodded, her questions flooding out like a river, finally broken free from the restraints of a dam. Her questions rushed out, and Scabior stood, unsure which needed answering first.

"You're my prisoner. I decide what to do with you, and I think that for now, you should stay with me." His eyebrows rose, "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all." Hermione bit back the urge to oppose his claims, knowing very well that right now he had all the power. One false move, and Scabior mightn't help her out of her reverie next time; he may just let Fenrir finish her off. The only thought worse than being considered Scabior's slave was the concept of being Fenrir's food. In some ways, Hermione thought of it as the lesser of the two evils; it made it easier to accept the predicament she found herself in.

Now, in the forest, she debated that decision. Perhaps she should've run. The odds that she would've made it out alive were scarce, but at least it wouldn't have led to this. Somehow, this felt ten times worse.

"I can see 'er!" One of the snatchers yelled in the background. Hermione huffed, forcing her legs to move faster. The strain on the muscles twitched; signaling her limited strength was slowly dissolving. Oh, she couldn't stop now!

"We're gonna get you, mudblood!" Another snatcher called, the words elongated in his fight to steady his breath. At least she wasn't the only one now feeling the strain of keeping speed.

Scabior was silent; his breath the only indication to his worryingly close proximity. Hermione could almost feel it against her neck, surfacing memories that she'd fought to forget. She couldn't be caught again, she didn't know if she could live through it again. Hell, they'd probably make sure she didn't.

She could feel him gaining on her, to the point she could feel the brush of his fingers reaching for her back, grazing against her jacket. He could've used his wand, but she knew he wouldn't do that when he was so close. He wanted to play, he wanted to torment her. His touch sent a jolt through her, and with a slight of renewed energy, she skidded to the left and ducked beneath a lone log. Her height made it easier to pass through, whereas Scabior struggled to duck far enough to get through. He wasn't fazed for long though, and joined her once more with more vigor.

She weaved around passing trees, hoping to confuse her pursuers. She could hear a few shouts of irritation, which brought a small smile onto her face. If she could just lose a few more, she might even be able to make it. She could leave it all, and go back to the real world. She could find out if Ron and Harry were safe. She could finally help.

In the prison, she'd felt useless. Once they'd moved to new ground, the tents were erected and she was shoved straight back into Scabior's room without even a second thought. Greyback had looked particularly frustrated by Scabior's decision to keep the girl with him, and glared at her retreating form as she'd hurried into the tent.

That night had been quiet. Scabior hadn't entered the tent since they'd arrived, yet when she perked her ears, she couldn't hear a sound outside. The camp was tense with the events before. Greyback had left the camp, most likely hunting.

Eventually though, Scabior appeared at the tent entrance with a plate filled with food. She hadn't even realized how hungry she had been until her stomach rumbled at the sight of the plate.

"I'm not hungry." Hermione said almost instantly. It was such a lie, but she didn't want to eat. She didn't want to do anything other than lie alone, thinking of ways to get away. However, Scabior didn't look like he wanted to indulge in her current desires.

"You need to eat." He stated without emotion, the plate of food outstretched towards her. She hesitated to take it, but soon found herself accepting the plate silently, head bowed from his expectant glare. She lifted the fork that was steadied on the plate, and speared a piece of potato. Guiding it into her mouth, she savoured the first taste of food in what felt like days. Was it? She could hardly remember anymore.

Scabior hadn't left. Still standing by the bed where Hermione sat, he watched as she scooped another forkful of food and brought it to her mouth. She closed her eyes and licked her lips. The food was hardly gourmet, but in her current state of hunger it tasted better than anything she'd had before.

When she'd finally finished of the remaining mouthfuls, Hermione set the plate on the bed in front of her. Not looking up at her snatcher, she drew circles on the covers beneath her.

"Will I ever leave this room?" Her question was so quiet, yet in the silence of the room it echoed louder than Fenrir's screams.

"That's not for you to worry over, love." Was the simple reply; a reply that seemed so frequent when it came to their little conversations.

"Please Scabior, I can't stay cooped up here forever. It's only so long before one side of this war wins, and then what? Will you just take me to the Ministry as planned? Will you let Fenrir finish me off?" Hermione could see him thinking of something to say, or rather a way for her to stop asking awkward questions. She couldn't stop though, because as soon as she thought she understood this man, things changed. She needed to know what was going on.

"This can't go on forever. You can't just keep me trapped in here. Sooner or later, someone's going to find me, and either way, it'll only end badly for us." Taking a breath, Hermione focused on many things in the room, all things except Scabior. Just like he had on that morning after things had changed. To look at him would only make her feel worse. She didn't know why, but glancing at him made her conflicted and made her ask question she didn't know if she'd want to answer. Did she really want to leave at all?

Scabior rested his palm against his forehead. Eyes closed and expression troubled, he sat down on the bed and turned to face her. "I have no other option, love. What would you have me do?"

"Tell me the truth. At least tell me why you've kept me here. You could've taken me to the Ministry, to the Dark Lord. You could've even let me go. So why this?"

"You're safest here! Out there you are bait. Potter doesn't know what he's doing alone. The Dark Lord knows that, and he knows of you. Believe it or not, in some ways you are more wanted than Potter. You're the brains, Hermione, and the Dark Lord believes that if we can get rid of you, then Potter won't stand a chance."

"But you took Harry and Ron to the Manor. Why would Voldemort still be searching for me if he knew I couldn't possibly be helping Harry anymore?" Hermione asks, fully confused. Had Harry and Ron managed to escape, or did Voldemort just want to make sure the last third of the trio had been dealt with?

Scabior hesitated with his response before finally replying to Hermione, "They escaped shortly after we left. The Ministry has cracked down further on trying to find them. Voldemort believes that you had continued on whatever mission you'd been on while they'd been at the Manor and that upon escape, they returned to you."

Hermione let out a shaky breath. She was sure tears were flowing from her face, but she wasn't at all concerned with hiding it. Relief was evident upon her person. Her head fell into her hands and she began to laugh. Her tears were ones of happiness, of joy. They'd got away! They were okay, and so was she. Against all, they were still alive. They could still do it.

"You have to let me go, Scabior. I need to be there with them!" Hermione pleaded, moving closer to Scabior. The desperate look in her eye was enough to make him agree to anything, except this was different.

"Did you not just hear me? He's searching for you. If you go out there, he will find you and kill you. How will that help Potter and Weasley?"

"And staying here will help them, will it? I have to go!" Hermione yelled, her voice strained from the sudden change of temperament.

"You're my prisoner, love. Whether you like it or not, you're staying here!"

"Please Scabior, I have to do this. Maybe you do agree with the Dark Lord and his views, but it's obvious you can change too. I'm a mudblood!" The aggression in the word made Scabior visibly flinch, almost as though he hadn't ever used it on Hermione's kind before, "You've treated me better than any of the snatchers. You look after me. You're not like the rest of them, even though you try to be. Please, if you won't let me go, then come with me."

A harsh bark of laughter came from his mouth, making Hermione frown. It wasn't the response she'd been hoping for, "I'm not misunderstood, darlin'. I'm not a desperate snatcher, hoping for a way to get to the right side. This is where I belong. I don't love. I don't hope. I can't be saved, so give up with the speech about turning around and making a change."

More tears threatened to fall from her eyes, but Hermione blinked them back, "So why help me then? Why not just take me to the Ministry with the rest of the disgusting, abnormal mudbloods?!" She spat, jerking back from him until she reached the head of the bed. She sat as far away from him as possible. It was her fault. She should've known. Of course, he wasn't different at all.

"I- I don't know. Everything you are is what I've always hated. Yet here you sit, on my bed no less. I don't care about you or your kind, but I care for you. I can't stand by and watch you get hurt."

"You know nothing about caring! Caring is about helping and doing what's best for a person. It's about being there for them." Hermione explains, turning her head away from the snatcher.

"And I haven't been doing that for you? I've kept you here, provided for you. I even saved you from Fenrir! I'm doing all I can to make sure you don't get hurt, and for what? So you can question my motives and twist me around your finger."

"I never asked for any of this, all I ever wanted was for you to let me go. I need to be with Harry and Ron, people who do actually care about me."

"Oh yeah, they really are such gentlemen, letting you risk your life constantly and pressuring you to be the brains at all time. Have they ever thanked you for being there? Do they even consider you?"

"Don't you dare twist this around! They never need to thank me, Scabior, because caring doesn't mean waiting for praise over how you've done, or how nice you've been. I don't need words or gifts to want to help people." Hermione seethed, rising up onto her knees. In turn, Scabior stood back up from the bed. Both stared at each other so intensely, that even the sounds of the snatcher's outside was nothing more than a whisper against the breeze. The only thing that mattered was them.

"Well if you're really such a selfless person, then of course I should let you go! Let's just leave you out in the woods to try and find the rest of the gang and hope that one of the snatchers won't kill you first. 'Cause they will, Hermione. As soon as you leave this tent, they will come after you, and they won't hesitate to hurt you."

"I have to at least try, Scabior. They need me, and I need them."

"No, you're not. I'm not going to let you go and kill yourself for them. They can do this, with or without you." Scabior moved closer to Hermione, their bodies merely inches from one another. As she kneeled in front of him, His hand came to circle around her waist.

"I can't keep feeling this useless, Scabior." Hermione admitted, resting her forehead on his chest while his other hand came to settle on the back of her neck. It was so different from when Fenrir touched her there. Despite the calloused texture of his fingers, they were soft against her skin. They soothed her.

His head lowered towards her, and he inhaled the scent of her hair. He smelt her, and him too. Their scent had mingled together.

"I know, love. I know." The sullen tone of his voice caused Hermione to raise her head. Her eyes locked with his, and she could see the same look of desperation as she had felt only minutes ago. She was desperate to leave, and he was desperate to keep her here.

Her hand moved to his chest, where she gently brought it up to where his heart lay. Keeping it there, she smiled at him through watery eyes, "This wasn't planned, was it?"

"No, not at all." He replied, the tips of his mouth rising up despite everything. Hand falling from his chest, Hermione moved closer to him until their bodies touched. Her knees settled on the edge of the bed, and if it weren't for his hold she would've already fallen. In so many ways, it felt like she already had.

Scabior leant down, his other hand coming to rest on her waist. His arms circled her, and pulled her up to meet him. She did so willingly, and found her arms sliding over his shoulders and attaching themselves behind his head. His eyes dropped down to her lips, and he bit his own in anticipation. Slowly he found himself gravitating towards her. Their breath came out laboured as they closed the last few inches. Hermione closed her eyes, waiting for it.

The first touch of their lips was barely there. It was a gentle brush that ended no sooner than it had started. Hermione let out a sigh and opened her eyes, seeing Scabior looking back at her with an expression she couldn't understand.

Then he surged forwards, and his lips met hers. He was slow in his movements, and spent what felt like hours pressing kisses to every bit of her mouth. Then Hermione tightened her grip around him, and kissed him hard, and demandingly. Both of them stayed like that until Scabior bit down lightly on her bottom lip. She gasped into his mouth, and in turn his tongue slid onto her mouth, claiming it as his own.

She was so absorbed in his touch that she barely felt him lower himself onto her. When she did finally notice, she slid backwards and lay onto the bed, feeling him moving over her. His hands moved deftly through her hair before his fingers moved towards her face, where they then he traced her lips avidly. They were lightly bruised from their kissing, and he bent down, kissing them one more time. It was soft, and sent tingles along her lips.

Suddenly, his lips drew away from hers, and began to kiss along her jaw, sinking lower until they reached her neck. His lips pressed firmly against her skin, his teeth nipped at the flesh. She took a deep breath, her eyes scrunching shut as his bites became harder, and a lot more evident. Hermione gasped when his tongue licked up her neck, and moved to her ear. Scabior's tongue grazed the edge of her ear, before biting the shell.

"Scabior, I thin-" Hermione said from the silence. She'd intended to stop this, to gain some clarity over the situation. She knew this was a bad idea, but it was an idea that she so feverently desired. As soon as she spoke the words, her heart stopped her. _Don't ruin this one, perfect moment._

Scabior lay on his side, beside her, unaware of her own predicament. One of his hands was supporting him on the bed, the other gripping her waist almost possessively. Hermione didn't dare move. If she were to move, then it would be real, and reality was the last thing she wanted. Reality would never let her have this moment.

But it seemed reality was oh so eager to interject. Her mind couldn't stop formulating the different possibilities. If- no, when she saw Harry and Ron again, how could she look them in the eyes? She had just as well as betrayed them. Only a few minutes ago she'd been incessant on trying to help them. How had she gone from that to this?

"Hermione, look at me."

Hermione found it hard to respond, only stared into his eyes and sighed in defeat, "Scabior, I don't think I can do this." His forehead fell onto her shoulder and she could feel the sharp intake of his breath.

"Please love, don't torture me like this."

"I'm sorry but I can't, not now." Hermione turned onto her side so they were facing each other. The lack of space made everything feel so deeply intimate. Part of her found it nerve-wracking to be so close to a snatcher. Another part found it thrilling and noted that never had her heart felt so at home. It beat steadily yet for all she felt it could've been going a million miles per hour.

Scabior nodded. He stayed in place beside her but he couldn't look her in the eye, not in the knowledge that he could never act upon the selfish impulse that her presence brought. Instead he twirled a lock of Hermione's hair aimlessly between his fingers, "You really do tease me, my dear."

A sad smile found its way to Hermione's face. She had to agree with him, "I know. It's all just so bloody messed up."

"You'll find life is like that no matter what."

"I didn't expect you to be wise."

"Well, I can see why you'd think that. I don't exactly keep the most intelligent of company, do I now?"

Hermione giggled, glad to see that his eyes finally met hers. Maybe it wasn't too bad to be near Scabior, as long as things didn't get too heated. Undoubtedly, Hermione would return to the boys. She was meant to help them and nothing would stop her from returning. However, while stuck in this situation, it wouldn't kill her to be civil with her snatcher.

And that's when Hermione found herself compromised. As soon as she was willing to entertain the friendship of a snatcher, she knew that she was in too deep. If she got committed to Scabior then what? What would she do when it came to the choice of who to leave and who to return to? Could she, when the time would inevitably come, fight against him?

That's when she knew she had to run. It had been in her mind all along however now it was imminent. There could be no more distractions and no more grasping at reasons to stay. She had to leave as soon as possible. She couldn't risk thinking about Scabior as a man. If he was just a man-

No! She was leaving and that was that.

That was the last memory of Scabior and Hermione together. It was one of the few moments that seemed to swim around her mind as she continued to flee from the snatchers. The memories that she knew could be her undoing. She couldn't allow herself to fall prey to her snatcher. She had to escape before it was too late.

"You can't run forever, love." There. She'd been waiting for him to finally call out. She could tell it was him; his words weren't filled with malice like the other snatchers, he didn't spit them out like it was sickening to address her. He shouted it out over the shouts and grunts of the others, yet it was the only thing she heard.

She wanted so badly to turn around, but she couldn't! She was so close to shaking them off.

Her eyes stayed fixed ahead. She ignored all the calls and the shouts, even those of Scabior now. His voice was just a distant sound. This was her chance. She had to remember the weight of the move she made. If she escaped, she could find her way back to Harry and Ron. She could help them find the rest of the horcruxes and ultimately they could destroy Voldemort forever. Then, she could find her parents. She could finish the rest of her education and find a good job. She could have a home and a family. She could be happy.

She continued to consider all the possibilities with her eyes following her way forward. She didn't notice the stump on the ground until she felt herself falling to the ground. With a cry of anguish she scrunched her eyes closed and braced for impact.

Instead she felt herself wrapped up in his hold. She knew it was him and despite all the things she knew, she clutched tightly to him. There was relief in being saved from her fall, except she began to feel a new sort of sensation. Before she knew it, she felt as though she was being ripped from the earth, almost like she was being pulled inside out. It was nauseating, yet oddly familiar.

When she opened her eyes, they were no longer in the forest. Where they were, she couldn't say. Her eyes quickly found their way back to Scabior, who was beneath her and was breathing heavily. His eyes were shut, but once opened they looked only to her.

"Scabior-"

"We need to get moving, they were too close. They can probably trace our whereabouts easily." He sprang up from the ground so fast Hermione had to do a double take. His hand was outstretched to her, and she took it quickly. When they stood, she could see he was already searching for an escape route.

"Scabior, I can-"

"I'm not quite sure where we are, but I think if we try and find somewhere to stay. You can start searching for Potter and Ginger. Then, I think we sho-"

"Scabior!" Her voice rang out in their new surroundings. He stopped dead, his mouth still agape as though he were about to strike up another one sided conversation. Hermione leaned up, rising onto her tip-toes, and wrapped her arms around the back on his neck. Her lips pressed softly against his, the coldness of their lips soon warming. It was short and sweet, but she soon stopped back.

Grabbing his hand, she smiled at him, "Then I think we should get going, don't you?"

"I'll follow you anywhere, love." He replied, his signature grin forming on his mouth.

* * *

So yeah, that's it. I hope you guys like it? I'd love to hear from you guys!

Review, favourite or do nothing at all! I just hope you liked it.

Hopefully I'll be back with some new, silly project. Until then, my friends, have a good Halloween, Bonfire night and whatever else may come your way :D


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